


at the feet of judas

by joltik



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Pre-Time Skip, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, foot washing, leaning hard into the jesus/judas dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joltik/pseuds/joltik
Summary: “You’re the emperor now, huh?”“Yes. It’s...a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, of course, but nothing I’m not prepared for,” she says, resolute. There’s more than one meaning to her words, of course, a heavy layer of veiled subtext of which she knows her teacher knows nothing. This, too, sits heavy on her shoulders.Heavy is the crown, indeed.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth (onesided)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	at the feet of judas

**Author's Note:**

> ...ok to start: i promise this isn’t a fetish thing lol…..
> 
> this is super self-indulgent and might come across as odd if you didn’t grow up in one of the branches of christianity that practices footwashing. it’s based off of a scene in the bible featuring jesus washing the disciples’ feet, and it usually happens either during specific ceremonies or during communion. 
> 
> it’s also a very strange, uncomfortably intimate experience when you’re a closeted teenager growing up in a super homophobic church, so that’s the specific experience i’m drawing off of for today’s Projecting Religious Trauma Onto Three Houses Fic
> 
> you could read this as being in the same ~~cinematic universe~~ continuity as “if this body’s a temple, let us defile it” if you so choose, but i’m not going to make any explicit connections, in part because i like the ambiguity of whether this is pre-crimson flower or pre-silver snow

On the journey back to Garreg Mach from Enbarr, Edelgard and her professor wind up stopping for the evening at a small inn in northern Hresvelg. The room, Edelgard finds, is warm, clean, and cozy, but she quickly finds herself distracted by feelings of nervousness. Partly over the shared space, but mostly over...what she knows she must do, and soon.

Byleth, true to her nature, has been quiet since they’ve arrived, seeming to content herself with exploring the inn. She glances at Edelgard now, an inquisitive look on her face.

“...Is something the matter, professor?” Edelgard says, voice even.

“...No. It’s more like...hm,” Byleth says, chewing on her lip. “You’re the emperor now, huh?”

“Yes. It’s...a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, of course, but nothing I’m not prepared for,” she says, resolute. There’s more than one meaning to her words, of course, a heavy layer of veiled subtext of which she knows her teacher knows nothing. This, too, sits heavy on her shoulders.

Heavy is the crown, indeed.

Byleth sits with her forefinger bent against her chin in thought, and Edelgard watches her, trying to discern the thoughts hidden behind those unnaturally green eyes. Eventually, she speaks up, her tone thoughtful. “I feel like...I should be doing something for you. To commemorate the occasion, I guess.”

Edelgard’s brow furrows. “You don’t have to do anything for me. In fact, I’m curious what’s gotten into you, since you’ve never seemed concerned about status before.”

“...It’s not about status, maybe. But it’s...important. To you, and to your country.”

“So it is,” Edelgard says. “Before I agree to anything, though, I would prefer to know whatever it is that you have in mind.”

“Hm,” Byleth says, before lightly rocking back and forth in her seat as she thinks. For what her face can sometimes lack in expressiveness, Edelgard has found her teacher’s body language to be quite vivid in its own way at times, albeit odd. It’s...endearing, in a way. Eventually, her eyes light up, and her back straightens. “Ah,” she says. “There’s...an old custom I know. In ancient times, when someone important would come inside after a long journey, there’d be someone there to wash their feet. It’s...a symbol of humility, honor, and respect.”

Edelgard blinks, trying to process what she has just heard. “...Setting aside the strangeness of the idea, that’s...something that I must admit I have never heard about. Do you happen to know which culture did this?”

Byleth appears to think over this, chewing on the knuckle of her pinky finger as she sits awkwardly, with one foot on the seat of her chair and the other leg folded under her. Her eyes take on a far off look, and Byleth quietly admits, “I don’t know.”

“...I see,” Edelgard says.

“You seem...uncomfortable,” Byleth says, tilting her head slightly. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Edelgard?”

“Not...uncomfortable, per se, but I must admit to finding it...strange,” Edelgard says. “It is...quite the peculiar suggestion, my teacher.”

“Is it so strange?” Byleth says, leaning back. “...I suppose it must be. Hmm…” After a beat, she adds, “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I don’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, or that weirds you out. But...I meant what I said.

“This...is clearly a very important milestone for you, and...as your teacher, I feel like I owe it to you. To do something for you, at least.”

“As my teacher,” Edelgard says. She glances away from Byleth, idly thumbing the sleeve of her own jacket as she mulls over the idea. “...I maintain that it is unnecessary, and I still find it very strange, but...if it’s something that you would like to do, I will acquiesce.”

“Mm. Good,” Byleth says, standing from her chair into a stretch. “Give me a few minutes to find what I need, and then I’ll be back and we can start.” Edelgard watches her leave, wondering what she’s agreed to.

* * *

Some time later, Byleth comes back into the room, arms loaded precariously with a nearly full basin of water and a small pitcher, with a small white towel thrown over her shoulder.

“Professor…” Edelgard says, somewhat concerned. “Do you...require assistance?”

“No,” Byleth says, blinking. “Actually, maybe. Could you take the pitcher?”

“All right,” Edelgard says, doing so. It’s a simple clay pitcher, modest but well-crafted, and if she were to guess from the appearance of the liquid inside, the contents seem to be some sort of oil. Peculiar, maybe, but she chooses not to question it, setting the pitcher down on a side table.

“Thank you,” Byleth says, placing the basin on the floor. “Could you sit down for me, Edelgard?”

“...Sure,” she says, seating herself in the closest chair. Byleth kneels in front of her, and it feels...profoundly odd to Edelgard, having her teacher on her knees before her—she’s emperor now, sure, but Byleth is the first person she’s been able to view as an _equal_ , a mentor...it sends a quiet thrill through her for reasons she can’t parse out and yet at the same time feels _wrong_ in equal measure.

Byleth looks up at her, giving her a small smile, the same smile that has always sent a small flutter through Edelgard’s chest since the first time she saw it on her professor’s usually stoic face. “Good… Can I take off your shoes?”

“...I am fully capable of doing that myself, you know,” she says, suddenly feeling conscious of what she’s agreed to.

Byleth blinks at her. “I know,” she says. “If you’re more comfortable doing it yourself, you can. But I have no problem with doing it for you.”

“...This isn’t…” Edelgard says, averting her gaze, “...you aren’t doing this for...some sort of prurient motives, are you? All of this.”

“Prurient?” Byleth says, sounding genuinely confused. “No. Is that a thing people are interested in? Washing feet?”

It is, perhaps, unsurprising to her, that her teacher’s naivete would extend to...such matters, and Edelgard really has no interest in discussing the matter further, so she says, “...not in washing feet, to my knowledge. Regardless...I will remove my own shoes.” She does so, removing her socks as well, before setting them aside.

“Thank you,” Byleth says, moving the basin closer. Edelgard stares at it dubiously for a long moment before putting her feet in.

“The water’s...somewhat cold,” she says.

“Mm. I...thought about heating it, but...I didn’t want to risk it getting too hot and end up burning you. You should adjust to it over time, like this.”

True enough, she gradually does adjust to the temperature, as Byleth lifts up her right foot to wash it. She runs a damp cloth over it—across the top, then over and between her toes. It’s…

Edelgard has never given much thought to her feet, truthfully. To _feeling_ things with her feet, in specific.They’re more sensitive than she would have expected, and Byleth’s touch, though light and indirect by way of the cloth she’s using, feels...strange, but not in a bad way. It’s pleasant, peculiar, almost sensuous, which is the strangest part. Byleth moves on to the ball of her foot, running the cloth under the arch—also surprisingly sensitive—before moving on to the heel. When she’s done, she uses the towel to gently rub her foot dry before setting it down on the floor, then going to repeat the process with Edelgard’s other foot.

There’s an odd feeling in Edelgard’s chest as she watches her, as she experiences...this. She’s feeling...a lot. She might have a heart attack. She might drop dead, suddenly. She might be in love. She might be terrified.

Because the thing is...she knows what lies in store for her. For both of them, when they return to Garreg Mach. She knows what she’s done, and she knows what she has to do.

Byleth finishes, sets the towel aside. “...Are you finished?” Edelgard says, hesitant.

“Just one more thing,” Byleth says, retrieving the pitcher. She pours a small amount of oil onto her hand, then begins to rub it into Edelgard’s feet.

It’s...shockingly intimate, more than the washing itself. She feels it, more, and isn’t sure that she can bear it.

The light of the setting sun streams in, casts a halo around Byleth’s unearthly green hair, as Edelgard sits on her throne of wood and wicker, being anointed by one blessed, chosen by the goddess, as she herself is the heretic, the betrayer.

They will return to Garreg Mach, and then Byleth will _know_ , and what will she think of her then? Her teacher, her mentor, her confidant, her friend, her hopeless crush…

She knows what’s ahead. Knows she won’t be able to sway Byleth’s heart, stay her hand.

She’s resolute nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Byleth says, having finished what she was doing. “For allowing me to do this for you.”

“No, thank you,” Edelgard murmurs. “At any rate...I fear I must turn in early tonight. I am weary from traveling, and...I should rest up for what’s ahead of us. Good night, my teacher.”

Byleth blinks at her, giving her a long, searching look. “...All right,” she says eventually, still oblivious (for now, but only for so much longer.) “Good night, Edelgard.


End file.
